


Home isn’t a place

by Claudia_flies



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Closeted Character, Explicit Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 11:29:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6236878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claudia_flies/pseuds/Claudia_flies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He knows that Bucky is not sleeping. Hasn’t been sleeping for weeks, maybe even since he came out from the cold with his and Natasha's help.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Can I… Could I…. You know, the way we when it was cold?”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>The memory of Bucky pressed against his back, warm and broad and wide is sharp, almost as if it had happened yesterday.</i>
</p>
<p>Or: Where Bucky thinks that he and Steve were together before the war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home isn’t a place

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know… I should be finishing [The River](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5841925), but I’m just having really tough time with the last chapter. I read a prompt on Tumblr a while ago about Bucky thinking him and Steve had been together pre-war even when they hadn’t been, and how he was adjusting to post-WS life, and it kind of stuck with me. I didn’t bookmark the prompt because I’m an idiot...
> 
> Title from Stephanie Perkins quote “For the two of us, home isn't a place. It is a person. And we are finally home.” 
> 
> [Absolutely stunning art was made for this fic by Lorien.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7059289)
> 
> Lyrics from Crystals by Of Monsters and Men.

_But I'm okay in see-through skin_  
_I forgive what is within_  
_Because I'm in this house_  
_I'm in this home_  
_All my time_

Steve is jolted awake by something, maybe a scream in the distance, all quiet now. He listens to his rapid breathing in the dark, the steady beat of his heart that doesn’t waver no matter how scared he gets. He listens out for Bucky and is rewarded with a creak of a bed frame. He lets out a slow exhale. He wonders if it was his friend’s nightmare that pulled him from his own not so pleasant dreams.

There is a slide of a door and a shuffle of feet against the floor, which makes Steve smile. Bucky has been trying to learn to make sounds again as he moves, ordinary homely noises and Steve is comforted that he remembers.

He is surprised by the quiet knock on his door.

“Steve? You awake?”

“Yeah. Come on in.”

The door creaks open, light from the panoramic windows from the living room framing Bucky in the dark. He fidgets in the doorway, shifting on his feet. Steve can see in the low light the red-rimmed eyes, the contrast against the dark bags under them. He knows that Bucky is not sleeping. Hasn’t been sleeping for weeks, maybe even since he came out from the cold with his and Natasha's help.

“Can I… Could I…. You know, the way we when it was cold?”

The memory of Bucky pressed against his back, warm and broad and wide is sharp, almost as if it had happened yesterday.

Steve smiles, and pulls back the duvet in a clear invitation. There is more than enough room in the stupidly large California king bed that Tony had insisted on. Bucky moves from the door in a flash and climbs into the bed, shuffling closer and closer under the covers until his nose is wedged against Steve’s shoulder.

“Wanna be the little spoon?”

Bucky nods against him, his nose dragging over the exposed skin of Steve’s bicep where his t-shirt has ridden up. He rolls over, presenting Steve with his back. For a moment something catches in Steve’s throat, the realization of how much Bucky trusts him, it settles heavy into his gut. Even after everything he has gone through, he trusts Steve at his back. And Steve has to deliver, has to be worthy of this.

He wraps himself around Bucky’s back, a mirror image of the way Bucky used to hold him in the winter months in their tenement flat, with their breath visible in the air and woolly bobble hats on their heads.

The skin of Bucky’s arms is still clammy but it warms quickly. Slowly his breath settles, his ribs expanding and contracting in between Steve’s arms and his chest at a steady rhythm. He mumbles quietly against the pillow:

“You always were a good big spoon.”

Steve smiles, remembering cold tents, somewhere in Northern France, huddling for warmth, but before he can answer Bucky lets out a quiet snore. It makes him smile even more, a sound that he had nearly forgotten, but is as familiar to him as his own breathing. He watches Bucky sleep in the dark for a while, his face relaxed in a way it never is while he is awake.

They have been living in the tower for two months now. Most of the time Bucky has been hiding in his room on Steve’s floor. Only coming out at night when the residential floors are quiet and dark. Natasha had been able to lure him out during the day a few times with gentle Russian words and once with a bag of pyshki fetched from Brighton Beach. Bucky had barricaded himself into the corner of the sofa with the paper bag, sniffing, and slowly nibbling its contents. He had, after about an hour, agreed to share the treats with Steve and Natasha, but for some reason he had refused to share anything with Sam, only given him a dirty look when Steve had asked.

Pepper had arranged for a slew of doctors and therapists who had all been vetted and thoroughly security checked by her and Tony’s staff. Bucky hadn’t let any of the doctors near enough to him to do any kind of proper examinations and they had been forced to take Steve’s word on his physical health. Bucky did let Steve take blood samples, which they had been able to analyze for the cocktail of drugs Hydra had been pumping into him.

In the end only one of the doctor’s had stayed, a clinical psychiatrist with specific training in dealing with combat stress and treatment of torture victims. Bucky still wouldn’t talk to her or be in the same room with her alone, but Dr. Chakwas and Steve had developed a good enough working relationship to let her assess Bucky’s recovery through Steve.

Steve had learned to take blood, and measure Bucky’s blood pressure and heart rate, all of which JARVIS was able to process and store for Dr. Chakwas to assess. She had refused to prescribe any medications as she felt that she did not understand enough what Bucky had been drugged with or his augmented physiology after the Hydra knock-off serum, so they had to make do with non-medicated options.

Pepper had also arranged Steve to be set up with a power of attorney for Bucky, allowing him to make medical and legal decision for him while he was still considered deceased, and had not able to make medical decisions that were in his best interest.

Steve had talked to Bucky about the power of attorney, wanting to make Bucky understand that he wasn’t changing handlers, and Steve would never force anything on him, that the setup was only so that he could speak with Dr. Chakwas. Bucky had just shrugged and continued to watch out of the window.

Over the past month Bucky had become more verbal, asking for things and expressing some opinions on things that he wanted. He wanted the heating on all the time. He didn’t like the smell of the detergent. He wanted baths over showers.

All of which Steve had been happy to give to him or change for him. He shifts Bucky gently in his arms, settling more comfortably into the bed.

While the responsibility frightens Steve more than anything he has faced before, he wants to do this right. Wants to pay Bucky back for all the things he has done for Steve, for all the extra shifts at the docks to cover Steve’s medication, for all the missed rent payments and lack of heating in mid-winter when Steve was too sick to work. He had felt, _had been_ , useless back then, and now he is able to give back all the kindness that Bucky had shown him.

He remembers resenting Bucky for the money, for the extra shifts, for everything he had to do just to keep Steve above water. He would have been so much better off just kicking Steve to the curb. When Steve had suggested something along those lines, Bucky had become so angry, his face coloring and voice hard, and he had yelled: “Now you listen to me you stupid punk, I’m with you to the end of the line and, pal, this ain’t it!” and that had been the end of it.

Allowing himself the comfort of a familiar body close to his own, Steve falls back into sleep.

He wakes up warm, content in a way he has not felt in, well since Brooklyn, really. The warmth around him is unusual, but the smell is familiar, something he has always thought simply as _home_. It takes him a moment to realize how stiff his dick is and how comfortably it’s nestled into Bucky’s ass, trying to burrow in between his butt cheeks as his hips gently grind forward without any say so from his brain. Steve feels his face flame, terrified that Bucky might wake and feel it, but also horrified how good it feels to have a warm body against his own, how the arousal feels coiled in his belly.

He tries to disentangle himself, but it causes Bucky to grumble and press himself more firmly into Steve’s chest, and his ass into Steve’s dick. Steve has to bite back a moan at the movement, the way his cock is pressing into the warm flesh of Bucky’s backside, and at the way his brain helpfully supplies images of all the things that he could be doing right now.

It’s not like this hadn’t happened before, it’s normal, and they would have always rolled easily away from each other, taken care of the problem in the bathroom. Most often the frigid air of their apartment was enough to wilt any kind of arousal.

But this is not Brooklyn, and Bucky is only slowly starting to trust people and Steve wants to be worthy of the trust his friend has placed in him. He doesn’t want Bucky to think that if he comes to Steve with a nightmare that Steve would take advantage of the closeness. Not that he ever would. It’s not like he likes men _that_ way. His body is just reacting. It’s just the serum. It’s normal.

He manages to disentangle himself slowly, even when Bucky grumbles unhappily, but he curls up in the blankets and seems to go back to sleep.

Steve leaves the water running cold in the shower, willing his erection away under the chilly spray. It wouldn’t be right to jerk himself off while his friend sleeps in the other room. It’s not like he would be thinking about Bucky or how soft and warm he felt in Steve’s arms.

Steve is flipping the sixth pancake on the griddle when Bucky wanders out from Steve’s room. His hair is a mess. _A really cute mess_ , his brain helpfully interjects again.

Steve isn’t sure what is wrong with him today, why his thoughts keep running down this particular path. He tries to shake off the feelings from this morning and see only his friend who needs him.

Bucky is looking at the stack of pancakes with interest. He has expressed very little enthusiasm towards food or communal eating in general, but Steve encouraged by the curious look, throws several rashers of bacon on the top of the stack and shoves it towards Bucky.

Steve turns back towards the skillet and starts on the second set of pancakes for himself. He listens to the sounds of cautious eating behind him, that turn ravenous. Steve is flipping the second pancake onto the plate when he hears the telltale sound of a fork scraping against the porcelain of the plate. As he turns he sees Bucky sliding his thumb over the plate, collecting all the crumbs and shoving the digit in his mouth. He catches Steve looking, and guiltily shoves his hands under his thighs under the table, not meeting Steve’s eyes.

“Hey buddy, you want more?”

Bucky eyes him with slight suspicion, before slowly nodding his head.

Steve adds the two new pancakes onto his plate and piles on more bacon, sliding a bottle of genuine Vermont maple syrup on the table as well.

“They are really good with the syrup.”

Bucky, cracks open the bottle and sniffs it. After having deemed the contents acceptable, he lets the syrup run over the bacon and down the pancakes until the plate is swimming and then proceeds to devour the meal with even more gusto than the first plate. Steve smiles, Bucky always had a huge sweet tooth and he is glad to see that it has survived Hydra. Real maple syrup would have been way beyond their means in the 30’s so he is glad that Tony stocks the kitchens in the tower with the best stuff. He has to look away when Bucky proceeds to lick the remainder syrup off the plate, looking contented and happy.

A shiny, syrupy spot remains on his nose most of the morning and Steve has to fight the urge to wipe it off with his thumb and bring it to his mouth.

Bucky watches as the vials are filled with his blood and stored in the kit that Dr. Chakwas has provided. He seems to have a strange fascination with the process, he doesn’t fight it or find it frightening and Steve wonders if it because he explains and shows Bucky everything. Laying out the kit and letting Bucky touch anything he wants.

Steve always meets Dr. Chakwas in the 68th-floor conference suite. It has comfortable sofas and an unparalleled view of midtown.

She spread a few papers over the low table between them. Numbers and graphs that Steve still struggles to understand. Dr. Chakwas has gotten better at explaining things in a non-medical language and what she can’t translate JARVIS is more than happy to explain.

JARVIS scans the results off Dr. Chakwas’ tablet and projects them into the air above the table. Dr. Chakwas rotates through the results until she gets to the graph she is looking for.

“It seems that some of his hormonal function is starting to return to normal. It’s great to see that his epinephrine levels are coming down. This may be due to the withdrawal from drugs or possibly he is starting to feel safer and more secure in his current environment.”

Steve feels a swell of pride even if he does not fully understand what the graph is representing. Dr. Chakwas pulls up another set of graphs and zooms into a specific set of numbers.

“You may start to see some behavioral changes in the next few weeks.”

Steve frowns, looking at the numbers that seem to be going down week by week.

“What kind of changes?”

She pulls up another set of graphs with numbers that match quite closely with Bucky’s latest results.

“Like yourself his triiodothyronine and thyroxine levels are above normal human functioning. It seems that Hydra had also significantly augmented his amylin and cholecystokinin levels allowing him to eat less and slow down his gastric process. As this rights itself to the normal levels he may start to experience more hunger. I would recommend that you get him to eat at the same rate as yourself. Do not force him to eat if he doesn’t want to, but always offer him food when you are eating. Considering his triiodothyronine levels, he should be consuming at least as many calories as you are.”

Steve nods slowly, thinking about the pancakes in the morning and makes a mental shopping list.

“He may also become more aggressive as his testosterone levels adjust to the lack of drugs in his system. What we have been able to assess from the blood work is that his handlers had been suppressing most of his sex drive, while maintaining hyper aggression through the combination of hormone replacement therapy and drugs we haven’t been able to identify.”

Dr. Chakwas pulls up another graph, now tracking five different trajectories which are all going down.

“His sex drive will most likely pick up, so it might be useful to let anyone who he spends a lot of time with know this, as he may have issues with boundaries in the beginning. A combination of the hormones, his history with Hydra and the memory augmentation. It’s not uncommon to see this in victims of torture.”

She looks at him, face professionally cool and difficult to read.

“You do not need to answer this Captain, but it would be good to bear in mind if there were any changes to your own sexual drive after the serum, as you may see this in your friend, and it will make it easier for you to understand his behaviour.”

Steve can feel the blush starting in his ears and work itself over his face. He doesn’t want to think of those few weeks after the serum and the way his body had responded to anything and everything. Even a stiff breeze had been able to get him hard in his pants. If Dr. Chakwas notices his discomfort she shows no sign and continues as if nothing strange has been said.

“Alternatively he may also become more physically affectionate or seek more physical contract. His latest results showed traces of oxytocin.”

“Oxytocin?”

Her cool professional mask slips, revealing a tiny smile.

“Its colloquial term is the ‘cuddle hormone’, it’s most commonly seen in women during childbirth and breastfeeding, but also during sex and intimacy in both genders. It can also be triggered by hugging and touching.”

Steve tries not to think back on the way he had woken up this morning and his blush deepens, the heat of it spreading over his chest. It’s disconcerting what kind of things Dr. Chakwas can see in the test results. She is smiling properly now.

“Don’t look so shocked Captain, this is a good thing. Many patients find it hard to accept touch after trauma and as long as he is not doing anything against anyone’s will, I would encourage you and everyone else he spends time with to respond positively to any touching that he instigates.”

Steve nods, not sure what he is supposed to say, but Dr. Chakwas doesn’t seem to expect anything.

“Again, just remind him of any boundaries if you feel that he is being too familial or getting into territory you or anyone else is not comfortable going to.”

Steve feels like he needs to confess to her, especially if she is able to pick up on these things on Bucky’s test results.

“Umm… Last night, before I took the latest blood test from him, he had slept with me.”

Dr. Chakwas raises a well-manicured eyebrow and Steve hastens to correct himself:

“I mean just sleeping! Being asleep in the same bed. Not sleeping sleeping together.”

He makes an awkward hand gesture.

“He had a nightmare ” he finishes lamely, but Dr. Chakwas just smiles at him gently.

“That’s perfectly alright, Captain. As long as both him and you are comfortable with what is happening I would encourage him seeking any human comfort.”

_Human comfort_. He wants to be able to offer it to Bucky so badly. Repay all the times that Steve had felt unwanted and weak and useless, and Bucky had made everything better with just a hint of his crooked smile.

“He’s remembering things from when we were young. We used to share a bed because it was so cold.”

Steve still feels as if needs to justify his actions. He doesn’t want Dr. Chakwas to think that Bucky is abnormal. That they had done things that weren’t normal.

“What I have read from his file, is that he has been treated like an object, any memories that help him regain pieces of his humanity are good. As we’ve discussed before it’s best to not force the memories, so I’m glad he is starting to regain things on his own. I would still very much like to do a comprehensive brain scan, but I understand that this would be too much at this time.”

She collects her papers from the table and folds them into her bag.

“Please do keep an eye on if he starts to remember more. We still do not fully understand memory formation or creation and with his advanced healing factor, his brain may be able to regenerate more than a normal human would.”

Steve nods. He has been fighting the urge to talk about his and Bucky’s shared and past and it has been incredibly frustrating, but in the past few weeks, Bucky has started to mention things, remembering. The bright happy look on his face when Steve confirms the reality of the memories is enough to make up for any frustration and pain of him not remembering.

Dr. Chakwas shrugs on her coat. She turns to him and touches his arm gently.

“Steve, you are doing very well. He is very lucky to have a friend like you. Don’t worry so much, you have a good head on your shoulders and you are doing the right things.”

“I know. I just wish that I could do more, that I didn’t feel so lost on how to help him.”

She smiles gently, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening.

“In these kinds of situations it’s never easy to know if what we are doing is helping, but as far as I can see, James is getting better.”

Steve stays in the conference room after Dr. Chakwas leaves, looking out into New York. It feels strange watching out into the city and knowing that Bucky is here with him. When he first came out of the ice the grief was too raw, too new. He couldn’t look at the skyline or the bridge without the gaping chasm in his chest ripping open again.

Even after the battle of New York it didn’t get better. Which is why he accepted Fury’s offer and moved to D.C. Fewer memories, fewer opportunities for thinking of the things that he had lost.

But now he has a chance to gain a piece of his old life back, a touchstone to something familiar and he is going to hold on to it with all the strength he has, and that means making the team as welcoming to Bucky as possible.

He finds Natasha on the shooting range with a frightening amount of pistols laid in front of her. She is regarding the spread the way an art collector would their most prized pieces.

“Natasha, I was looking for you.”

She gives him a small but genuine smile.

“Hello to you too stranger. We haven’t seen you much for team dinners. Or for movie nights.”

“Well, yeah…”

Steve rubs the back of his neck.

“Yeah, yeah you’ve been busy babysitting tall, dark and shiny. Eventually, you are going to have to let him get to meet the rest of the team. We don’t bite… well, Tony might.”

“Well, that was actually what I wanted to talk to you about….”

It takes him a while to try and find the words. Everything he considers just sounds too clinical. Natasha chooses the Glock, her favourite Steve knows, and starts to load the magazines.

“Come on, spit it out Rogers. Targets are waiting for my tender, loving care.”

“Um… Dr. Chakwas said that Bucky might start to… That’s his hormones are going to be all over the place so he might… You know.”

He makes a vague hand motion. She looks at him with a cocked, unimpressed eyebrow and repeats Steve’s vague hand motion.

“He might what? Steve, I think that you’ll need to use your words like a normal human.”

“She said that his sex drive might come back.”

He’s proud of how his voice doesn’t squeak. Natasha flips a full magazine and slides it into the Glock with a loud snap.

“Okay.... And you are telling this to me because?”

“Well, you’re the only girl… lady… woman who he spends a lot of time with.”

Natasha gives him her best _I’m unimpressed, Rogers, so please stop whatever you are doing right now_ look.

“So you thought that he might try to hump me like a dog?”

“No! Just if he does anything….”

Natasha flips on her hearing protectors as Steve flails.

“Jesus Rogers, I’m sure if James approaches me, we can deal with it like adults.”

Steve knows he's blushing and is grateful that Natasha doesn’t mention it.

“Yeah, of course. Yes.”

He stays at the range for a few minutes, watching her hit the targets with a frightening precision.

Steve knows that Natasha is right. Bucky, while he is sometimes nonverbal, is not violent or even that unpredictable. And he is not going to just start jumping on people in the common room.

Movie night is a proud and long-standing Avengers tradition. At least this is what Tony is claiming loudly to Bucky who is standing on the side the kitchen area eyeing the snack bowls covetously and trying to covertly move towards them. Steve wonders if he should tell Bucky that he could easily move away and Tony would not even stop to draw breath.

He had been surprised at how readily Bucky had accepted his suggestion of them joining the team for a movie night. Steve had explained him the history of movie night (they had all been recovering after New York) and also made a case for all the food that was on offer (Pepper made special orders of snacks, ice creams, candies and finger foods). Bucky had just nodded and asked, “You’ll be there, right?” and then continued his deep exploration of Wikipedia on his new StarkPad.

“Lord of the Rings marathon!”

Clint proclaims form the door, waving green DVD case in his hands. Pepper smiles, pouring trail mix into a bowl in the kitchen.

“Maybe just the first one to start with?”

Clint grumbles, but nods, veering towards the kitchen to grab a box of steaming spring rolls.

“Sure thing, but we are doing them all eventually right?”

Steve has read the books, but the movies have been on his catch-up list, so he’s happy to get started on them. He remembers enjoying the story immensely, sketching scenes and character faces as he went along.

Clint sets up the massive cinema screen Tony had installed a few months ago and hunkers down into one of the lazy boys . Steve claims a spot in the corner of one of the bigger couches, sinking into the cushions. Bucky, having escaped Tony, wanders over with a bowl of popcorn, giant soda bottle and a tub of ice cream, laying them on the floor by Steve’s feet. Then he smiles, crooked and genuine. It makes him look strangely young, the young man Steve had known in Brooklyn looking down at his from the face of the Winter Soldier.

“I got two spoons.”

He waves them in his metal hand, and then plops himself on the couch next to Steve. And curls into his side, head on Steve’s chest and arm thrown around his middle.

For a moment Steve is frozen, his legs and shoulder tensing, he doesn’t want the others to think anything untoward about Bucky, he’s only started to interact with the team so recently. But Dr. Chakwas had said that he should respond positively if Bucky was instigating physical contract and there was nothing sexual or wrong what Bucky is doing, really.

Gingerly Steve lets his palm come to rest of Bucky’s upper back. The touch makes Bucky cuddle to him more closely, his hair tickling Steve’s chin.

“Nice big spoon.”

The whisper against Steve’s chest is so quiet that no one else can hear, and Steve can feel Bucky’s smile against him. It makes him pull Bucky instinctively closer and Bucky makes a happy, contented noise Steve hasn’t heard before.

Natasha flops down on the lazy boy occupied by Clint who complains loudly and creatively, until acquiescing and making space for her. She eyes Steve and Bucky for a moment critically and then winks.

“Cute, Rogers.”

Steve can feel his blush again, but Bucky just rotates his head on Steve’s chest towards her.

“You’re just jealous Natchenka.”

And then he rubs his hand over Steve’s belly with a proprietary air. His hand is warm and his touch sure and familiar. Natasha actually laughs, her voice bright and happy. Clint pulls her to his chest, wrapping his arms around her middle as they settled into the lazy boy.

Clint gives Steve a nod and flick of eyebrow, seemingly saying _look at us, ex-assassin cuddlers_. Clint’s eyebrows can sometimes be powerfully eloquent.

As Hobbiton prepares for Bilbo’s birthday party Steve starts to relax into Bucky’s hold. He is warm and solid against Steve’s side and it is nice to have someone touching him, someone he can hold, run his cheek against Bucky’s hair and smell _home_.

Bucky falls asleep as the fellowship leaves Lothlorien, the quiet scene on the river lulling him into sleep. Steve lets him slump down and pillow his head on Steve’s lap. Pepper throws him a blanket with a sweet smile from her and Tony’s couch, and Steve drapes it over Bucky’s long legs and bare feet.

After conquering movie nights without a hitch, Steve decides that it’s time to try and get Bucky out into the city. He has been feeling and sleeping much better in the past week. Steve is happy that he is able to provide comfort, safety, and healing for Bucky no matter how many mornings he has to start with a cold shower.

The burger place is not far from the Tower and it seems like an ideal first outing. Pepper’s security team makes sure that any press is kept away. There is nothing they can do about camera phones, but Steve hopes that his and Sam’s off-duty looks are enough to not draw too much attention.

Bucky still eyes Sam with suspicion in the lift. He hasn’t warmed to Sam at all after the pyshki incident, even when Steve has tried to get Bucky to spend time with him and Sam together. Telling Bucky about his and Sam’s friendship and how helpful Sam has been seems to agitate him even further, so Steve has stopped. Now he just hopes that constant exposure to Sam’s bullheaded positivity will be enough to win Bucky over in time.

On the street Bucky pushes himself between him and Sam fairly aggressively and grabs Steve by the hand, linking their fingers together, giving Sam a mulish stare.

Sam takes it all in his stride, giving both Bucky and Steve plenty of space on the sidewalk, shrugging good-naturedly to Steve. His smile seems to distress Bucky, who glues himself to Steve’s side, keeping an iron grip on his hand, angling his body between Sam and Steve.

The burger joint is nice, with dark wooden interior and old-fashioned booths. Sam calls it hipster chic and grumbles about lack of authenticity in NYC. Pepper has called ahead and gotten the owner to reserve them a private booth near the back.

Bucky shoves Steve into the seat and places himself next to Steve, on guard, facing off towards Sam who slides into the opposite seat. He smiles at Bucky, disarming and wide.

“It’s cool dude, I’m not gonna go near him, don’t worry.”

Bucky sticks out his chin the exact same way he used to as a kid, just before a fight. Steve wonders if some of Bucky’s conditioning was towards protecting targets, as his behavior seems to be more and more about guarding Steve. He just hasn’t figured out why Bucky views Sam as a threat but none of the others.

He seems to calm down a bit after the food arrives and Steve rubs his hand up and down his leg. Physical contact seems to calm him, even if he still keeps throwing suspicious looks towards Sam, even as he shovels fries into his mouth at a rate that impresses even Steve’s appetite.

After the restaurant Bucky starts expanding his reach of the tower and often Steve finds him in the common room or the gym. He becomes a regular sparring partner to Natasha and Steve knows that on some of the quiet evenings he has been teaching Pepper some self-defence techniques. And by self-defence, he means teaching her how to incapacitate two hundred pound men with her pinky.

When he arrives on the gym floor Natasha and Bucky are already there. Their sparring is like a dance, fluid, and graceful economy of motion. Bucky fights Natasha likes he means it, and she would accept nothing less. Steve watches them for a long time, the beauty and grace of their bodies moving together. Eventually, Natasha taps out from a headlock.

“Alright Steve, you go take over, I’m beat.”

Bucky smiles wolfishly, crouching down on the mat. His body is slick with sweat, the grey t-shirt plastered onto his body.

It’s the first time Steve has sparred with someone who can match him perfectly. He doesn’t have to pull his punches or to worry about hurting his sparring partner. For a brief moment Steve thinks back to the helicarriers, but then he catches a sight of Bucky and the smile plastered on his face. It’s the same shit eating grin he has seen thousands of times in Brooklyn just before they got into some trouble or another. Steve grins back and attacks.

They exchange blows and kicks until Steve flips Bucky to the mat, pressed tight against his body and the floor. Bucky’s metal arm trapped between his lower back and Steve’s stomach, his other wrist in Steve’s death grip over his head.

Bucky’s ass is pressing straight into his dick. His dick, which thinks that the little grinding motions Bucky is doing is nothing to do with him trying to free his arm from the lock. Bucky spreads his legs, pressing his knees into the mat for more leverage.

Steve rolls off him, pretending Bucky tapped out. He gives Steve a strange look, as if asking why he yielded, but Steve just waves him off and steps into a starting stance. Bucky smiles, wide and happy, and rolls into an attack.

They grapple for the best part of an hour, but Steve avoids pinning Bucky again.

Bucky heads back to the apartment for a bath after, but Steve decides to shower at the gym. He knows how wrong it is. He knows he shouldn’t be thinking about it. But Steve can’t help himself, in the quiet of the shower where all sounds are muffled by the steady pounding of the water. He lets his mind wander as he tugs on his cock.

Let’s himself think what it would have felt like to press Bucky into the mat, how it would have felt to slide his sweatpants down his thighs, to work himself into Bucky’s tight, hot body, and listen to the sounds Bucky would make as Steve fucks into him.

He comes with a pained grunt, his fist in his mouth trying to stop the sound. The water clears away all evidence of his indiscretion.

Afterwards he feels dirty and wrong. He isn't sure where the thoughts had come from. Maybe he has been too focused on Bucky, maybe they are spending too much time around each other, it’s not healthy to try and be everything to each other.

Natasha stopped trying to set him up on dates after they had moved into the Tower, and now Steve wonders if he should ask her again. This time, he would accept. Maybe it would help. Maybe she could arrange some double dates for them, like old times. He rejects the thought as soon as he has it. Bucky is not ready.

Steve turns to look at the clock radio on the nightstand. 2.07 blinks on the dash with eerie blue light.

He’s hard again. These days he is always hard when he wakes up, his cock fat and pressing against his underwear uncomfortably. He puts it down to the serum, rather than the constant presence of Bucky in his bed. The feel of his body against Steve’s.

Bucky grumbles and shuffles, maybe woken up by Steve moving to look at the clock. He is still a very light sleeper, even if his sleeping has improved greatly after he moved into Steve’s room.

“Hmm, Stevie, what time is it?”

“A bit past two am, just go back to sleep.”

Bucky snuggles closer and, before Steve can move away, throws his leg over Steve’s body, his thigh sliding over Steve’s crotch. Over his rock hard dick, which is in no way put off by Bucky’s closeness. Quite the contrary. His hips buck involuntarily into the contact. Bucky has to feel it, he’s going to move away, he is going to leave, he’s going to hate Steve…

“Well hey there soldier.”

Bucky’s voice is sleep heavy and he smiles against the heated skin of Steve’s neck. He slides his hand over Steve’s chest, palm catching on a nipple and Steve fights not to moan.

Before Steve can get over his shock of not being kicked out of the bed, Bucky has used the considerable strength of his left arm to roll Steve towards him until their chests are aligned, their bodies flush together. Bucky arches his hips, rubbing their hard cocks against each other though the thin fabric of their pyjamas, his hands sliding possessive and warm over Steve’s ass, the metal heated from the covers and sleeping bodies. Steve’s brain is short circuiting. Bucky is hard too. The hot length of him pressing against Steve.

“Buc… Bucky. Please.”

_Please (don’t) stop_.

Bucky hums against his neck, his teeth grazing the underside of Steve’s jaw. His hands cup the swell of Steve’s ass firmly and he shifts his thigh between Steve’s legs, grinding against Steve’s already over-sensitive cock. Steve can’t help but cant his hips into the pressure. He’s so close, so so close.

“Yeah, that’s it, Stevie, I’ve got you.”

And Steve wants to. Wants to bury his face into Bucky’s neck and come on him, mark him as his own. Fighting every instinct he has Steve, lays his hands on Bucky’s chest and pushes him away.

Bucky let’s go instantly, face suddenly a mask of worry.

“What’s wrong?”

Steve has to cover his face with his hands, he can’t look at Bucky right now. Not when his hair is sleep mussed up and the way Steve’s cock is leaking against the front of his pants.

“What are we doing?! Jesus, Buck.”

He breathes out half-panicked, half-pissed. How could he have let it get this far? Bucky is reaching for his shoulder. His hand is shaking.

“What…?”

Steve removes his hands from over his eyes and looks at Bucky. His eyes are wide, fearful, surprised. His metal arm clicks and whirrs in the silence. Steve clears his throat, tries to make his voice steady.

“You like girls.”

Bucky looks at him for a long silent moment, seemingly sorting things in his head. When he speaks his voice is distant, unsure.

“But we used to do this...?”

“No!”

Harsher than he intends and Bucky flinches. He tries to reach out for Steve again but his hand never comes close enough to touch.

“But I remember… Holding you.”

“We didn’t do this...”

Steve shakes his head and feels like an A-grade asshole. Bucky looks sad, betrayed, eyes hollow.

“Oh.”

It is as if he is collapsing into himself, pulling the edges of his body tighter together, making himself smaller.

“I think that maybe I should go.”

Steve has nothing to say. What can he say? He feels like he has made a huge mistake, but he doesn’t know how to rewind time, to take back what he has said.

Bucky slides off the bed, pulling his pillows and blankets with him. He closes the door softly behind him and Steve can hear him walk down the hall to his own room where he hasn’t slept for weeks now.

Steve doesn’t get back to sleep.

He gets up at 5 am and goes for a run. He decides that this doesn’t have to ruin things. It was a momentary hitch cause by just some wacky hormones. They’ve been living too much in each other's’ pockets. They just need to find equilibrium in their relationship and spend more time with the others.

He prepares a huge stack of pancakes and bacon and eggs, waiting for Bucky to come for breakfast.

Bucky doesn’t come. The door of his room remains firmly shut. Steve doesn’t knock. He waits for another hour and then throws away the coagulated eggs and cold bacon.

Bucky stops touching him completely. The friendly, brief touches Steve hadn’t even realized had become part of his day stop. The hugs and Bucky cuddling up to him during movie nights stop. Bucky sleeping curled around him, his face lax and happy stop.

Now he apologizes if he accidentally brushes Steve when walking past. He sits alone on one of the lazy boys during movie nights curled up in a blanket. The dark circles under his eyes, that had been slowly disappearing in the past weeks of sleeping in Steve’s bed, come back.

Natasha gives Steve looks that chill him to the bone.

Bucky doesn’t look at him when he takes the weekly blood samples. He doesn’t look at the tube filling or the kit, his eyes are stony and stay turned to the wall of the bathroom throughout.

During their meeting Dr. Chakwas purses her lips.

“It looks like his epinephrine levels are back up, not the extreme high that we saw in the beginning, but higher than they have been in the past few weeks. Has anything changed? Has there been any new stressors that might explain the changes?”

He can’t tell her. Bucky isn’t like _that_. He’s never been like that. It’s just him balancing off the drugs Hydra had been feeding him.

“Um… I don’t think so. He’s had more nightmares.”

Steve offers lamely, and Dr. Chakwas nods, eyeing the results, her face pensive.

“Memories coming through into the unconscious mind, it would definitely explain the heightened stress reaction.”

“Just keep an eye on him, Captain. If he seems more distressed please let me know.”

He promises to do that even when he has no idea how he could possibly tell her anything about how Bucky is really doing.

They live on the floor the same way they did all those months ago when Bucky first arrived. His door remains closed the whole day and Steve barely sees him. He knows that when he is out of the floor Bucky does eat, and he spends hours in the gym with Natasha and more recently on the range with Clint.

Steve avoids them as much as possible, the accusation in Natasha's eyes too much for him to bear on top of Bucky’s wall of silence. But as always she is not willing to let him stew in peace. She corners him in the gym, following Steve into the men’s changing room when he tries to avoid her.

“You know you’re not supposed to be here.”

“Oh, fuck right off Rogers.”

He grabs his towel, turning away from her and moving towards the showers.

“If this is about Bucky I don’t want to talk about it.”

Natasha snatches the towel from this hand and throws it on the bench. Her face is livid, more expressive than Steve has ever seen.

“Well tough shit. We are going to talk about it. I get it if you aren’t into him romantically, but you didn’t have to lead him on all this time. Jesus, Steve, it’s fucking cruel.”

It feels like a gut punch, and Steve knows she is right. He could have put a stop to everything, but he was too happy to give himself excuses.

“I didn’t! I just thought…”

“Thought what? You think that Clint and I cuddle on top of each other on the couch ‘cause we’re just best buds?”

Steve gapes at her. She has never confirmed or denied her relationship with Clint. Steve had wondered, had noticed the small arrow necklace that she always wore.

“It’s pretty fucking obvious how you feel about him Steve. I didn’t really think that you were that good of an actor.”

The old fear twists his stomach, it’s always been there, like a heavy stone in the bottom of his gut, weighting him down.

“He’s always liked girls.”

It’s like a mantra to him. Something that Steve had been telling himself for years now. Bucky likes girls. _I like girls_.

“Did you ever even ask him?”

She’s gentler now, the rage on her face morphing into something more heartbreaking. Steve closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to see her pity.

“He always went out with girls, was always out dancing, always had a pretty girl on his arm.”

She touches him then, just gentle fingers on his forearm. Steve still won’t look at her.

“What would have happened if he told you how he felt back then? Do you think that maybe he was scared too?”

“But he _always_ liked girls.”

It explodes out of him in a huff, and he hates how desperate his voice sounds. Desperate for Natasha to believe him. Desperate for himself to believe.

“It doesn’t matter if he liked girls then. He likes you now. He wants you now and you have your head so far up in your own ass that you can’t see that.”

She shakes her head sadly, resigned. She picks up the towel from the bench and hands it to him.

“Please don’t let your own stubbornness get in the way of being happy. Not everyone gets a second chance. And if you are one of the lucky few who do, don’t waste it.”

Steve stays in the changing rooms for a long time, staring down at the towel in his hands.

He talks to Sam because Sam is good with people. He’s seen combat stress before, he understands the kinds of ties you form with people in your unit.

It doesn’t go as planned.

“You get that he was jealous, right? When he was glowering at me and making unhappy faces every time we hung out.”

Sam’s holding a beer between his fingers, leaning against the bar in the empty common room.

“Um...”

“To be fair I didn’t fully clock on until the trip to the burger place. You had to have picked up on it then, man.”

Steve shakes his head miserably.

“Wow, Dude. If he would have been any clearer about marking you as his territory he would have been peeing on you.”

There is a smirk on his face and Steve grimaces remembering Bucky’s behaviour in the restaurant.

“Okay, first ew. And second, it was his first time out of the Tower so he was bound to be a bit agitated. What was I supposed to think?”

Sam puts his beer down and looks at him with what Steve always secretly calls Sam’s therapist face.

“You guys hold hands, cuddle on couch during movies. He looks at you like you hung the moon. And don’t get me started on the overtly sexual sparring matches. We’all though you were gonna start boning on the mat.”

“They weren’t sexual!”

Sam gives him a pointed look as if saying _Steve, please_ , and Steve flushes thinking of the times he’s jerked off in the shower after training.

Sam opens another beer and hands it to him. The alcohol does nothing for him but the taste is familiar and comforting.

“If you don’t feel the same way then just be honest with him. He deserves to know and hear it from you.”

Steve is quiet for a long time and Sam doesn’t have Natasha’s patience for long silences.

“I mean do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Feel the same way?”

“I…”

He can tell Sam. Sam is an accepting guy. Probably.

“I didn’t really think it was an option.”

“What was?”

This is it. He’s going to say it. Sam is going to hate him. He’s going to leave.

“To feel that way. About Bucky. About men.”

Sam doesn’t leave, his expressions doesn't even change, like he had been expecting this all along.

“You know, a lot has changed in the world since the 40s.”

“Yeah, I know. I read the orientation pack that SHIELD gave me after the ice. It was pretty comprehensive.”

Sam doesn’t say anything, just waits patiently. The look in his face in gentle. The stone is heavy in Steve’s stomach, pulling him down.

“It just doesn’t mean that I’ve changed. That I’m able to change.”

“Do you want to?”

“Maybe. Yeah. I think so. I want to try. For him.”

“Maybe for yourself too.”

“Yeah…”

Sam cracks open two more beers, handing the other to Steve.

“You know I was in the forces when don’t ask don’t tell was in place. I knew guys who were affected by it and I know how much damage something like that does.”

They drink their beers in companionable silence, and Steve wonders how it could have been this easy. Sam hadn’t freaked out, had not been disgusted, had not demanded that Steve hand in his shield. Just handed him another beer, easy as always.

He starts to let those thoughts about Bucky he had been so good at repressing into his mind. Examining them, letting them be.

He thinks about how much he had liked having Bucky in his bed and not just because he wanted to help his friend. He like the intimacy, of knowing that Bucky was close by, that he could just roll over and touch him and that the touch would be welcome.

The pancake breakfasts and steak dinners they had companionably shared over the kitchen table on Steve’s floor. The impulse to wipe the syrup off Bucky’s nose. Living just like they had in the dump of a flat in Red Hook. Well, with much better food, and heating, and constant hot water. But Bucky hadn’t been sleeping in his bed to drive off the cold. He hadn’t been cuddling up to Steve just because he wanted human contact. He had wanted Steve, had wanted to be near him, touching him, he had wanted to have sex with Steve.

And no matter how much he had tried to deny it Steve wanted those things too. He had always wanted those things, ever since he was a small runt of a boy and Bucky had been tall and handsome and magical.

Steve wakes up to the screaming. He is out of his bed, shield in hand before he realizes that the screams are coming from the bedroom down the hall and he recognizes the voice, the particular timber of Bucky’s terror.

He lays the shield against the wall and slowly opens Bucky’s bedroom door, knocking gently on the wood, hoping that the sound would be enough to wake his friend.

Bucky is twisted in his blankets and sheets, his face contorted into a mask of fear and agony.

He doesn’t mean to but he is on the bed with his body wrapped around Bucky before he can really form a coherent thought, his body posed to protect, to comfort. Bucky jerks in his embrace, his metal arm grabbing the back of Steve’s t-shirt, gripping the fabric in his fist.

“Steve, Steve, oh god.”

For a brief moment Bucky clings to him, his body sweaty and clammy, stinking of fear. Then suddenly as if burned he pulls away, crawling to the other side of the bed and curling in on himself. Steve reaches out for him, trying to offer comfort, wanting Bucky to know that he is here to help.

“Hey, buddy. It’s okay, it’s just me.”

Bucky shrinks back even more, trying to make his body smaller on the bed and the sight of it feels like a slap. His words bruise even deeper:

“Don’t touch me.”

Steve pulls back, holding his hands out in surrender.

“Okay, okay. I won’t. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t want to touch me.”

The words are whispered into the covers and Steve barely hears them. Bucky’s crying now, shivering from the nightmare. It breaks Steve’s heart in ways that he wasn’t sure was even possible anymore.

“Buck. I’m so so sorry. I’ve been a complete moron.”

Slowly Steve reaches out, making sure that Bucky can see him, laying a gentle hand on his shaking shoulder. He shifts on the bed slowing moving closer and closer until he can pull Bucky in against his chest.

“Please don’t do this if you are just going to leave in the morning.”

Bucky’s voice is watery, tired. He is breathing against Steve’s collarbone and Steve can feel the tremors running through his body. As if he is trying to keep himself from melting against Steve’s body. Steve tightens his hold over Bucky’s back, holding him as close as Steve physically can, hands running down his back, legs tangling, capturing Bucky’s cold feet between his own.

“I’m not going to leave you. I promise. Not tomorrow or any other day.”

Steve kisses his clammy forehead, his closed eyelids tasting the tears still clinging to Bucky’s skin. He kisses both of his cheeks and then gently his soft mouth, just a brief touch of his lips.

Bucky open his eyes at the kiss, grey, and black pools looking straight into Steve’s soul.

“Do that again.”

It’s a breath against Steve’s mouth and he does, eyes wide open, not breaking away from Bucky’s gaze.

The kiss is soft, still chaste, just a touch of lips and an exchange of breath. Bucky melts against him at the touch, his entire body going pliable in Steve’s arms.

Steve lets Bucky burrow into him, letting him have all the comfort that he has been missing in the past week of not sleeping in Steve’s room. They lie together for a long time, just breathing the same air. Then Bucky speaks, his voice muffled against Steve’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Steve palms the back of his head, guiding Bucky to look up. His eyes are luminous and beautiful in the low light.

“No, I’m the one who is sorry, I should have said something sooner.”

Bucky kisses him again, lips soft and undemanding and settles back against his chest, his words rumbling into Steve’s heart.

“I was just so sure, I started getting these memory flashes of us. We were in bed together a lot. I remember holding you, listening to you breathe as you slept, kissing the little dip in the back of your neck.”

Steve feels tears prickling his eyes and he is glad that Bucky can’t see them. He wonders how many times he had laid awake in Bucky’s arms in Red Hook, his breath caught in fear of the things he wanted, and Bucky had been there with him, wanting the same things. They had wasted so much time.

Bucky runs his hands down his sides and his voice turns sad.

“I remember Peggy and deciding to step away from you. But not wanting to, even if I knew that I never deserved you. I was selfish and I wanted to keep you.”

He places a kiss on Steve’s chest, right above his heart over the cotton of his t-shirt.

“I remember loving you with everything I had. Was none of that real?”

Steve kisses his forehead, his nose and those inviting lips that he has dreamed about since he was fifteen.

“No. All of it was real. I just didn’t know that’s how you felt.”

Steve tries to show in his voice all the longing he has felt and denied all these years. He runs his hands down Bucky’s back dipping under the hem of his shirt, running his fingers up Bucky’s spine.

“Buck. I’ve been trying to hide this my whole life. I spent so long denying it, being scared.”

“How could you have thought that I wouldn’t want you?”

Bucky sounds distressed, his hands grasping Steve’s back, pulling him closer, his feet rubbing over Steve’s. Steve smiles down at him, and he feels the sadness creep into his voice.

“Because you were so perfect, and you were my only friend, it would have been greedy to ask for anything more.”

Bucky wiggles higher against his body so that he can reach up and kiss him. This kiss is different, more heated. Bucky wipes the tip of his tongue over Steve’s lower lip and on instinct Steve opens up. The first touch of their tongues against each other is electric, shivers running down Steve’s spine. Eventually, Bucky pulls back, short, sharp close-mouthed kisses against Steve’s lips.

“I’d always want you, you stupid punk” and Bucky’s face breaks into a smile and he looks at Steve like he hung the moon.

They sleep late into the morning when the room is already lit in bright morning light. Steve wakes again with his hard dick pressed into Bucky’s ass, after the initial flare of panic, he realizes that maybe this too is welcome. It’s surprisingly easy for Steve to slide his hands over Bucky’s body, gently waking him in the way he had secretly wanted to do on so many mornings. Bucky snuggles into him, rolling his ass appreciatively against Steve’s morning erection, the pillows muffling the contented noises he is making.

They explore each other's bodies with gentle, and in Steve’s case unsteady, hands. Steve is cautious and hungry in a way that he can’t explain.

Bucky’s hands slip into his pyjama pants, hands cupping his ass and fingers tipping into the crack, just a tiny bit as he grasps the flesh, and Steve wants it to be more. He moans wanton and flushed when Bucky pushes a thigh between his legs and lets him grind against the hard muscle. He is so ashamed, of his desire and his inexperience, but Bucky holds him close and murmurs against his ear “oh Stevie, I got you” and Steve comes, hot and sticky between them.

He’s flushed and still hard, one of the undesirable side effects of the serum. But Bucky just smiles at him, lazy and happy, slides down Steve’s body pulling down his pyjamas and takes Steve’s come covered cock into his mouth, wrapping his tongue around the head, licking him clean.

Bucky’s mouth is hot and sinful around him, sucking the head and letting his tongue play with the foreskin.

“Bucky, Bucky, please touch me….”

Bucky hums around his cock, the tremors making Steve arch and writhe.

“Please, please...”

He can’t say it, doesn’t even know the words and then Bucky’s spit-slick fingers are sliding between his ass cheeks, circling around the tight pucker of his asshole. Steve comes into his mouth, grunting and sobbing.

Bucky licks him clean, fingers still teasing his ass. Steve growls and pulls him up for a kiss. Bucky tastes bitter and salty and Steve is surprised at how okay he is at tasting himself off Bucky’s tongue. He rolls Bucky over, pressing him into the mattress with his body weight and sliding his sweatpants down his legs. Bucky opens his legs easily, cradling Steve against his body. Steve mouths his chest, flicking his tongue shyly over Bucky’s peaked nipple and Bucky moans, pushing his chest into Steve’s face, his hands steady at the back of Steve’s head.

Steve’s confidence grows and he gives the nipple a gentle bite. It makes Bucky moan and arch against him, humping his leaking cock against Steve’s stomach.

Bucky feels amazing against him, his knees squeezing Steve’s sides, anchoring him against Steve’s body. Steve mouths his way across Bucky’s chest following the lines of scars and muscles, mapping out Bucky’s body, committing it to memory. He moves lower and lower, tracing a long line of a scar from under Bucky’s left nipple down to his hip bone.

Bucky’s cock is thick and leaking, the tip red and inviting and Steve gives it an experimental lick. Bucky nearly knees him in the head as he pulls his knees up.

“Jesus fuck, Steve.”

He sucks the head, it tastes bitter and earthy, but no different to the rest of Bucky.

Bucky keeps making these helpless grunting noises every time Steve licks over the head. He dips his tongue into the slit and Bucky yells his name. Steve knows that objectively he is probably pretty bad at this, he can only take Bucky’s cock about halfway, but he tries to make up for the rest with his hand, palming and jerking the base.

Whatever he is doing seems to be working from the noises Bucky is making. When Steve sucks on the head he sounds like he is dying, long pained whines pulled from his slack, open mouth.

“Steve, Steve, I’m gonna… Fuck.”

Steve isn’t prepared for it and some of the come runs down his chin. Bucky pulls him into a kiss, licking his own come off Steve’s face. It’s dirty and perfect and Steve shudders at the pleasure of it.

They shower together, Bucky reluctant to let him go for even a moment. It takes about five minutes under the spray for Steve to even remember that Bucky doesn’t like showers. As soon as he realizes he offers to change to the bath, but Bucky just shakes his head.

“I like showers with you.”

After that Steve doesn’t let go of Bucky for a moment either.

Bucky jerks him off again in the shower, fingering his asshole, slick with soap and conditioner. Steve comes so hard he thinks that he might collapse, but Bucky’s metal arm keeps him up against his warm body. Then he leans in, murmuring against the shell of Steve’s ear.

“We’re gonna have to see how many time I can get you to come one of these days.”

Steve groans, but for the first time he doesn’t feel ashamed of his serum enhanced recovery period.

They are barely out of the shower when he gets a text from Natasha.

**< Come and meet me in the garage. And bring tall, dark and shiny ;)  > **

He looks at the phone and the smiley with suspicion until another text pops up.

**< Come on Rogers I always know everything  > **

Steve blushes, the heat rushing across his face and chest. Bucky looks at the texts over his shoulder and chuckles.

“Natchenka means well.”

He pats Steve on the shoulder, his hand lingering.

“Come on, let’s get dressed. It’s not polite to keep a lady waiting.”

Both Natasha and Pepper are waiting for them in the garage, dressed in that casual but stylish way Steve had started to associate with the women on New York.

“We’ve arranged a private view at a gallery in the west village for us.”

“Just the four of us?”

“They are hosting a temporary exhibition from an illustrator who is your contemporary. It’s not really Tony’s type of thing.”

Pepper smiles enigmatically while Natasha grins wolfishly. Happy shows them into one of the executive cars that Pepper favours.

“The artist was the same age as you both and he fought in the war at the same time as you did. Both me and Pepper thought that it would be good for you to know his story and see his work.”

The gallery is closed for all visitors but them, and once Steve starts to take a closer look at the illustrations hung on the walls he understands why.

Even the tamer ones make his eyes water. The others hung in the separate exhibition space in the back, well Steve isn’t quite sure what to do with himself. All the pictures are of men. Muscled, hyper-masculine men with bulging cocks and military uniforms, leather jackets, tight denim. He tries to avoid meeting Pepper’s gaze who is perusing the works with the critical eye of a seasoned art collector. But even Steve has to admit that the pencil and graphite work is exceptional and the style interesting.

Bucky goes from picture to picture, awed and a tad gleeful. Breathing out curses and “Jesus, would you look at that!” every few minutes. Both him and Natasha stop in front of a picture of a blond man straddling a naked brunet, giggling and whispering in Russian, shooting glances towards Steve and he feels his face heat up.

The story of the artist touches Steve most of all and he spends a long time reading the biography. He was a soldier in the war, like him and Bucky. Slept in foxholes and barracks with other men, fought alongside them, defending his country. The military inspiration is clear from a lot of the work and Steve thinks back to the first moment of seeing Bucky in his new, crisp uniform.

Pepper walks up to him, her heels clicking on the polished wood floors of gallery. She looks at the graphite work of two sailors without a hint of a blush. Steve can’t say the same for himself. He feels like he will leave the exhibition looking like an overripe tomato.

“He does have a series of illustrations based on Captain America, but the whole set is in private ownership and hasn’t been exhibited since the 1970’s.”

Steve feels his throat click as he tries to swallow, tries to imagine himself drawn in the style of these men. He knows objectively that his body shape matches the idealised form of them, knows that the artist would have probably seen some of the propaganda films made of him during the war. He thinks of himself drawn like these men, drawn like this with Bucky. He doesn’t dare to look at Pepper, in fear of her reading all of his thoughts on his face.

“I’ve already asked my agent to look into purchasing the series. If anyone should own it, it’s you.”

She touches his shoulder gently and moves on to the wall of unfinished pencil drawings.

In his time there were words for this; effeminate, a fairy, bitch. All of them had been applied to Steve even before he could figure out what he liked, playground taunts thrown his way before he had even figured out what wanting another person was. These pictures show the opposite of those taunts, wide, masculine men with hint of danger. But their eyes look kind, almost playful. Even in the most graphic pictures there is tenderness, there is fun, they way their hands rest on each other's bodies even in the most explicit of situations.

Bucky insists on buying several prints for them. Steve is horrified at the idea of having these kinds of pictures on his wall, on display, but the way Bucky says _our home_ and looks at him, makes Steve want to buy him the whole exhibition and wallpaper their entire floor with the pictures.

Pepper takes them to a late afternoon brunch at a low key but clearly very expensive restaurant. The staff open a private part of the roof terrace, with the skyline of New York spread out in front of them.

They don’t talk about the exhibition, but Steve still feels ridiculously grateful towards both Pepper and Natasha. Their easy camaraderie and almost bored attitude, as if this is nothing extraordinary, as if this isn’t one the greatest gifts Steve has ever been given as if acceptance is not something wondrous and rare.

Bucky holds his hand under the table and Steve doesn’t let go. He is finally home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :) Come and say “Hi!” On my [new Tumblr](http://claudia-flies.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [Absolutely stunning art was made for this fic by Lorien.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7059289)
> 
> The exhibition Steve and Bucky go see with Pepper and Natasha is based on an exhibition of work by Tom of Finland that I saw many years ago in Helsinki. He is a really interesting artist and he did serve in WW II. He also credits his time in the army as one of his major inspiration. You can find out more about him on [Wikipedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tom_of_Finland). I’d definitely recommend googling his work! Please note that a lot of his work is very much NSFW!
> 
> The picture Natasha and Bucky were giggling over is [this one](http://s3.amazonaws.com/asmedia/7e476176ce705229d2c0398971007823/IFd3lDHXay.jpg). 
> 
> Also [this](https://www.artsy.net/artwork/tom-of-finland-untitled-10) made Steve blush like an overripe tomato.
> 
> The bit about the Captain America art pieces is obviously fiction, but I would like to think that if Touko would have seen the Captain America propaganda films during the war, he would have been inspired. ( ͡ ° ͜ ʖ ͡ °)


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